I have a set of New Year's Eve and New Year's Day rituals, that while essentially meaningless, I take great comfort in, if only because they are familiar. Nothing harmful, mind you, just things I do to close out one year, and usher in the next.

For the last couple of years, this ritual has included a church service, then either back at home, or over to my sister's apartment, to just hang out, watch movies, talk and laugh until just before midnight, when we turn on the countdown on Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve (every year, without fail), for the last few minutes before the clock strikes 12:00. We toast the New year, my sisters and I text each other and our mom, and after we all wind down, and the kids are in bed, I say a prayer, thanking God for surviving the year that passed, and expressing my hopes for the coming year. Then I make sure I wake up early enough to catch the first showing of the Tournament of Roses Parade (the one without the commercials), an annual tradition here in Southern California that leads up to the annual Rose Bowl game between college football teams.. Then I spend the remainder of the day relaxing, and/or preparing myself for whatever is going to come next in my life.

For whatever reason, I tend to pay particular attention to the first song I hear at or after midnight. I guess in my own way I think the song is either setting the tone for the year ahead, or telling me something about the year that just ended. Generally, I tend to have the radio on as well as the television, and for several years, the first song I heard was "New Year's Day" by U2. Which is fine, but I started thinking that maybe because this is a song about war and politics that contains the statement "Nothing changes on New Year's Day", maybe this is not the tone that I really want to set fot the new year.

This year, the host of the countdown stated that Elton John would be performing soon after the break, so, seeing as I am an Elton John fan, I opted to wait before turning off the living room tv. My reward for not hastily turning off the tv, was that the first song I heard in the New Year was the 1983 Elton John hit, "I'm Still Standing", performed live (well on tape delay because we are on the West Coast) by the artist himself. My kind of New Year theme!

Although the song is ostensibly about a man surviving numerous attempts by a former romantic partner to leave him defeated and depressed, I wonder if Mr. John realized how many people would recognize themselves or their circumstances in that song? Does he know how many people see that song as inspiration to keep going through tough times? This song tells us that, if you can arrive on the other end of your struggles, not just on your feet, but feeling triumphant for having survived it, you will eventually begin to put your life back together, and yes, you will be okay.

It certainly is the story of this past year of my life, especially the last few months. I've found out recently that the fall out from my financial troubles are far from over, and I have many months of struggle ahead, but you know what? I''m still standing. I have a solid spiritual foundation, a rich internal life, and friends and family to listen to me when I need to talk. I can go forward, even if because going backward is impossible, and while looking back may provide with some ideas of what I did wrong, and subsequently what I want to avoid, dwelling there will do far more harm than good.

I'm still standing.

I still have a civil service job with a small, but steady, paycheck, and will be facing issues and opportunities with both in the coming days and months. I've been here before, and I will get through this, hopefully wise enough to not make the same mistakes that got me into this mess in the first place.

I'm still standing.

My son hit some roadblocks on his way to getting on with his life, and it looks like there will be additional delays in his eventual exit. My daughter is cruising towards her VERY emotional teens. I have some support, but as always, on the day to day stuff, the micromanagement is still mostly on me.

So many things meant to destroy my spirit, break me down or just keep me running in circles so as not to get anything accomplished. For so many others as well, the last 3-4 months of 2014 were devastating. But I made it. We all did. And by the Grace of God, going forward into 2015, I'm still standing. I hope you are to.

The Sunday after Thanksgiving marked the end of a very long, strange, and ultimately revealing trip in my life.

What started with a 3-day notice back in October, and ended with my eviction in mid-November, has now morphed into a beautiful combination of blessings, revelations that I am far from the only one that I know personally that has had to go through this, and a new resolve to help those that will go through this situation in the future. If a well lived life is about a life spent helping others (or simply keeping one's head out of one's own ass), then what I learned that week was that admitting to mistakes and failure was not the same as BEING a failure, and that people will genuinely want to help you, and sometimes in a way that inspires you (or in my case, strengthens your resolve) to help others.

This story picks up in a courtroom, where I am trying to plead with the owner of my former apartment for some sort of deal to work things out, and failing miserably. To the the point where even the judge noted that I had made extraordinary efforts to make some sort of deal to stay in my apartment. No such deal was to be had on that day, and I had to leave. ASAP. I sat in the courtroom after everyone had left except the court clerk, and cried my eyes out. The court clerk listened to my pathetic sobs as I told my story, and related to me in that she sat in the court everyday, day after day, and heard story after story of people's slow descent from the middle class. She also became the first of three people to tell me to forget my pride, and figure out where my kids and I were going to live.

Later on that evening, I found myself posting about the whole humiliating ordeal with some long time online friends, and I heard again that dropping the pride might be the best thing to do, and admitting that I needed help. I realized then that Pride, that old friend that I would wrap around me like a warm quilt that magically warded off hurt and anger, would be my undoing if I didn't put it away and talk about what happened to the kids and myself, and what would happen if I didn't get any assistance. I had to ask myself if it was more important to find and finance a place to live, or to maintain the "everything is okay" image I had been cultivating for so long.

After a day of stalling and trepidation, I finally set up a GoFundMe page, and told my story to a wider world. If there is anything more damaging to one's pride than admitting that you royally screwed up, and now need help to right your ship, I am not sure what it is. What I feared most by admitting that I had an issue and needed help was the judgement of others. What would people think of me, that I had failed so obviously at so elementary a task? I reviewed and edited my page, said a fervent prayer, then released my request to the internet.

I never expected the overwhelmingly positive response I got. After publishing my story in a few places, I found out that my story is so common, especially right now, as to almost be passe. The court steps are populated by those that were living on the financial edge, and only needed one unexpected incident to push them over. We are a brotherhood: those who were once financially okay, now just barely getting by, and sometimes, not even that.

Because I had no idea how any of this would work out, I formed two plans. The first was to hurriedly find a place, and, if I could raise the money, pay the deposit, and move in as soon as possible. Barring that, I would just put everything into storage, and move the children and myself back into the residential motel that we had lived in before. But more than anything else, I absolutely had to vacate the apartment before the first of December.

Everything I am about to tell you happened in the space of roughly 10 days.

Tuesday, I lost my court battle to stay in my apartment.

Wednesday, I posted the GoFundMe page.

On Thursday I got a call from a dear friend, asking what on Earth had happened. I stood in an empty-ish hallway at work, telling the Reader's Digest condensed version of the events of the past several months. This phone call would turn out to be a Godsend, but I will get to that later.

I got off work on a Friday, and decided to ride up and down three city blocks, collecting phone numbers on For Rent signs. My goal was to collect between 5 and 10 numbers, call all of them, and seriously hope one of them worked out. After leaving several messages, I finally got a live person on the 4th call, and arranged to look at an apartment the next day. I tell the kids that we are going to look at a place tomorrow, and if the person likes us, we are applying, and we are going to take it if approved. We have to go, and this is no time to be picky. They agree.

Saturday, we look at a place. It's smaller than the place we currently live, but there is a garage where we can store the extra stuff, the kids are happy to not be going to a motel if we get it. We meet the manager, who seems to really like us, even after my son makes a Romanian gymnast joke (and I cringe!), and I fill out an application. We have to wait until Monday for an answer.

My campaign has actually brought in some money, for which I am insanely happy, and by Sunday word has gotten around my small church community that all is not necessarily well in my world. Here was another place I was afraid to admit I had an issue, as, being both an introvert, and socially awkward, sometimes people take that as being snobby or standoffish. Definitely NOT a good impression. I figured most people didn't realize I didn't talk much for fear of accidentally inserting my foot in my mouth. I figured I didn't have many friends here, but I was offered very discreet help, and left church with enough to put a serious dent in covering my moving expenses.

Monday, I got the call I had been waiting for. I had been approved for the apartment. The dear friend I spoke with the prior Thursday, had offered to be my Angel investor, and completely covered the deposit on the new apartment, and made an extraordinary effort to make sure I had it in a timely fashion. I immediately make arrangements to pay the deposit, sign the lease, and get the keys. I also begin to transfer utilities and mail, reserve a truck, and have my son begin soliciting what of his college aged friends can help us with the move, which, out of necessity, is going to have to happen the day after Thanksgiving. I purchase the first set of boxes today.

Tuesday, I meet with the manager and pay the deposit, Wednesday, I get the keys, and begin moving small items into the apartment. We also continue packing, with my 10-year-old daughter proving herself to be the MVP of packing boxes. I have never seen a more organized effort to fill, tape, and mark boxes, as the effort put forth by my daughter during her first major move.

Thursday, Thanksgiving day, is spent packing, eating, then packing until we run out of boxes.

Friday morning is a whirlwind of activity that sees me running to get more boxes (and donuts to feed my "crew"), running to replace a suddenly destroyed tire, running to finish packing before my son's friends arrive, running to pick up a U-Haul truck, running home, trying to get all of the heavy furniture out of the house and onto the truck before my college-aged crew has to leave, especially considering the limited amount of time I had the truck, getting the first load done and unloaded, running back to the old place to try to hurry and get the boxes loaded onto the truck, realizing that two ten year olds and a twelve year old with dollies do an EXCELLENT job of neatly loading boxes onto a truck, running back to unload the truck and return it to U-Haul, then running home to clean up, and run to my sister's place for Thanksgiving leftovers.

Saturday and Sunday were spent retrieving what we had left in the old place (my clothes dryer was the largest item) and doing what cleaning we could, as I had re-aggravated a hand injury, and my son and I were both extremely sore. My knees have yet to forgive me for the move into a second floor apartment.

And yet by the Sunday after Thanksgiving, we were done. There were still cries of "What box/bag is that in?", and beds still needed to be assembled, but by the Grace of God, we had landed safely in a new place. We are exactly where we need to be, as we are close to my daycare, and my daughter is now in the district she needed to be in in order to go to the middle school she wanted to go to. Yes there are some things that were lost in the move, and some things we will have to purchase to complete the adaption to this new space, but we made it, we are safe, at home.

It is after midnight here, and all is...quiet.

And I realize in this quiet that it is now my job to continue to bring attention to the plight of those whose lives are entangled in a system that routinely turns people out on to the street, at what is perhaps the worst financial moment in their lives. For me, for this moment, my fight is over, assisted along the way by many wonderful people. But my fight for others in the same and similar situations is just beginning.

But on that Sunday night, after Thanksgiving, it was time to relax, and rejoice in my many blessings. A glass of wine, a slice of leftover pie, and the knowledge that, so long as you reach out, honestly and humbly, you are never really alone.

To say that Mother's Day means different things to different people is likely the understatement of the century.

For a lot of women, Mother's Day is the day when their successes and value as a Mother is applauded by all far and near. If they have adult children, they call home or come visit for some combination of food, flowers, conversation, and possibly a walk or a movie. Those with younger children may be treated to all manner of homemade gift by teachers that love any excuse to break out the arts and crafts. This is all wonderful, obviously, but there is another group of mothers who we don't readily acknowledge for whom Mother's Day looms as a painful reminder of exactly how much they don't fit the norm.

This post is for them.

For the mothers whose children yell at inappropriate times, garnering them hard side-eye and loud whispers from everyone around them;

For the mothers who have children with behavior issues are that aren't as easily handled as the people giving you condescending, contradictory advice that you have already heard 50 times, tried, and already know that it either won't work, or will only work for a few minutes;

For the mothers who did everything they knew how to do: made sure their children went to school, took them to church, loved them, disciplined them, asked them about their day, and REALLY listened when they answered, and the child still made one or more truly bad decisions and is now incarcerated or dead;

For all of the mothers whose inner demons drove them to unspeakable pain, pain that translated into absent, neglectful or abusive parenting, and now their children are no longer with them;

For the mothers whose children have given up on life, despite their best efforts to encourage them;

For the mothers who children exist in that grey area where they doing neither poorly nor well: in reality, they aren't doing much of anything;

For the mothers who were imperfect, whose children are struggling, who now face down stares, whispers and judgment from family and friends;

For mothers for whom Mother's Day is a reminder of their frayed relationships with their own mothers:

I am one of you. I understand, and I salute you. I know the road you walk is not an easy one because I am currently on that path. We are those who will never really know what kind of parent we were because are children are not on the same path other children are. We get the occasional pat on the head or hand as assurance that we have not totally screwed up, but internally we can't help but look around us, wondering what our lives would be like if we were "normal" mothers.

We will do all of the right things on Sunday. Some of will go to church, smile with everyone else, and accept the greetings of the day. Someday, we hope, everything will be alright, or normal at least. Until then, at least on the inside, Mother's Day is just another day.

On Presidents Day, we celebrate the combined birthdays of Presidents George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, at least in theory. Most of us are just happy to get a day off work. I know I am happy for any day that I don't have to get up at 4:30am, drag a sleepy 10 year old out of bed at 5:00, then get the day started. But then again, I have a regular office job. This morning, I found myself really thinking about the job of President. Not the office. The Job.

If you follow politics, it seems like President of the United States is the office every young politician aspires to, but so far only 44 have achieved. But I've always wondered if, once they attained the Office, the actual Job was what they expected it would be. I'd like to think that all young men and women that seek political office have the idea of wanting to help affect change both in their local community, and in their counties, states, and country to help those that might not have a political voice. Initially they see it as a noble calling, and are willing to accept what they see as a challenge to try and wade through all of what they see as the bureaucracy to try and "get something done". Few believe they are going to become part of it.

I am sure, once they began to become familiar with local politics, they began to learn the art of compromise. Compromise is the currency by which any accomplishments are made in politics, some relatively minor, some heartrendingly huge. I wonder, as they attain higher and higher Offices, if the compromises required by The Job don't ever become particularly discouraging. Especially if they still have their sights set on the Office of the President, if not necessarily The Job. The more prominent the Office, the more high profile The Job, unfortunately means the larger the compromises.

The Job of President of the United States is the performed in the largest goldfish bowl in the world. Even the smallest aspect of how you do The Job is scrutinized by everyone from the most respected political analysts to every armchair critic in every corner of the globe. Whatever ideals the young politician went into the Office with will be sorely tested by the realities of The Job. As much as they expected that compromise would become a way of life, I wonder if they realized not only on what scale, they would have to compromise, but to what level they would become vilified for it.

In hindsight of course, we knew they were men that did what they had to do to move the country forward, but look at the opposition they faced, and the fact that historians still argue over their decisions to this day. Lincoln and slavery. Roosevelt and the New Deal. Johnson and Civil Rights. These were times of great conflict, and decisions had to be made as to what was in the best interests of the largest number of American citizens. Unbeknownst to many, there were actually quite a few compromises and deals made to get these decisions made, but there were people in Office committed enough to the Job to get it done, even in the face of enormous criticism.

I am probably one of the few people honest enough to admit that as critical as I can be of politics, and politicians, I could never be a professional politician. There are far too many competing interests, and for me, far too many people willing to try to corrupt the will of the many for the interests of the few. Once you attain the highest Office in the land, and might be trying in earnest to do the Job, multiply those competing influences, and the ensuing compromises, by 1000. Then I begin to realize that, as a former supervisor used to say, that while the Office sounds glamorous, the Job is more than a notion. And I start wondering how many of these young politicos have thought long and hard about The Job. Or are they just thinking about the Office?

Sometimes I think the bravest thing you can do is leave the past in the past, and move on into the future.

When you think of it that way, every New Years Eve is a huge step into a brave new world. Not the tightly controlled, sterilized world of Aldous Huxley's novel, but a world of possibilities of your own making and choosing. You now have 365 days to figure out what you want to do with them. The key thing here, is figuring out what YOU want to do. This is not the time to write someone else's goals into your life plans.

I had spent my entire life wanting to be a writer. After years of fear of failure stopping me from pursuing it, I made a promise to myself last December 31st, that starting on January 1st, I would make some effort, at some point during the year, to get myself back into it. Granted it took me until August to start taking even baby steps, but I finally got it done. This blog, and several other projects, are a result of that.

Whatever it is for you, it can be done. What means the most to you, and what do you want to do with it? These are the questions that change lives, and in some cases, change the world. For some it could mean a commitment to getting their financial house in order. That could mean anything from writing letters to settle debt, to committing small amounts to savings each paycheck, to clearing up a credit report, to maybe even searching for a better job. The point is to take any small step that allows you to move forward.

The beginning of a new year is a signal to move forward. You can't change anything about the year that has passed, but upon reflection, you will always see something that you feel that you could have done differently. Now is the time to make that change. However small or large, this change could be the very thing that you needed to do for yourself in order to progress toward your goal. Don't think an inch is progress? Ask a turtle.

Tomorrow is the first day of a new year. You have 365 chances to make your life into the life you want. Get to it!

I am writing this in the last small bit of quiet I will have before the relative speed and insanity of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day descend upon me.

Christmas Eve will be a flurry of work, last minute shopping, rushing home to change (The choir tends to dress in similar colors for special services. It actually looks pretty good from the audience!) before the Christmas Eve Candlelight Service at church, then rushing home to wrap the newly purchased last minute gifts followed by outlasting the kids so I can wrap their gifts while they sleep. If I am lucky, I'll get to bed by 2:00am. Although Christmas Day starts later (my children are not voluntary early risers under ANY circumstances) it's still an all day run of food, family, gifts, and two long-ish sits on the 405 freeway getting to and from my mother's house in the San Fernando Valley. The day goes by fast, and is pretty enjoyable. I do like spending time with my family, but when The Day is done, I am only too happy to come home and make the acquaintance of my bed.

Since I've been a parent, Christmas has become a different experience for me. For the last 21 years, I have always sought to make sure that my kids have great Christmas memories. I will never forget the year I woke my son up Christmas morning by playing the CD he asked for on the boombox radio he asked for. The look on his face was priceless, as he wondered aloud how I had managed to both sneak it past him, and hide it in the house. A couple of years ago, I realized that my daughter had developed a love of the Hello Kitty character. So for Christmas, I bought her a Hello Kitty outfit, Hello Kitty hat, and a few other related items, and put them all in a Hello Kitty gift bag. She squealed from the minute she saw the bag until she had pulled out the very last item.

To that end, I have also expressed to my family that I don't really want or need anything for Christmas. Adults are difficult to buy for, and rather than have anyone racking their brains trying to figure out what to get me, I always tell them that I just want to make sure that the kids have a nice Christmas. This has come in handy when Christmas morning was comprised of gifts given by others because I had no money to purchase anything for anyone. And there were quite a few of those.

It was those years of having nothing that made me appreciate The Day for more than just the exchange of gifts. What is it about The Day, other than the gifts, that people wait all year for? The anticipation of food, family and fellowship (religious or otherwise), that people may not receive during the year, will always be evident, somewhere, on The Day. My family all lead very busy lives, what with work, school, travel and so on, and we don't always see each other much during the year. A holiday here, or a hurried visit there, maybe a phone call or two. But for at least one day each year, we all slow down, sit and share a meal and talk, just for a day.

Even now, while I am in a slightly (VERY slightly) better financial place, I still enjoy The Day more for the feelings of peace and happiness. I am wiser now, and gifts are small, and usually have some meaning to the recipient. I enjoy seeing the smiles on faces when they receive some small item that was just what they wanted or needed.

The laughter, conversation and smiles are what I look forward to on The Day. They are the only things I want or need. I get them in abundance. I am satisfied with The Day.